


Personal Log of First Ridok'tala

by stayneurotic



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Religious Guilt, Rough Sex, Violent Thoughts, implied past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayneurotic/pseuds/stayneurotic
Summary: Notes from the personal log of one Jem’Hadar First in the early days of his species’ initiation into the Dominion, detailing his dealings with a particular Vorta by the name of Weyoun.
Relationships: Weyoun 1/OC Jem'Hadar
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	1. Entries 1-5

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to a roleplay between myself and a friend, in which we've conceived these two characters who are trying to consolidate their confused feelings for one another and their desire to be good servants of the Dominion. This Weyoun is the first of his kind and there are still some...bugs to be worked out, biologically. Same goes for Ridok'tala, who is a first-generation genetically-altered Jem'Hadar. Forgive us our sins in advance.

_First's log, personal. Stardate 01.651.7._

_It is not my place to question the will of the Founders in any capacity. But I have found myself irritated lately at every turn due to this most recent change. Each rotation of our crew seems to be ordered just as we had begun to develop the efficiency of a cohesive unit. It seems every other week I am staring into a room full of unfamiliar faces. How am I to maintain trust and respect within my unit – loyalty among my men – if they are perpetually strangers among the ship? Moreover, how am I to develop an understanding of how best to serve my field supervisor if I am given no time to establish a working relationship with them before I am whisked away to another assignment?_

_It has been an acceptable-enough series of reviews from each supervisor so far – I would not be First if they did not recognize my ambition – but I am not given enough time to develop to the best of my abilities. I do not think this current system is conducive to allowing me to serve my Founders adequately. But there is no channel for me to voice these thoughts; it is the will of the Founders and so it is done. I will endeavor to do my best regardless of the circumstances._

* * *

_First’s log, personal. Stardate 01.653.4._

_Field Supervisor Keevan, to my great relief, was promoted to Sixth Fleet Overseer and so we were reassigned once more. It is jarring to be shuffled around so much, but I am happy to be free of that ship. I and my new unit have been placed under the command of a Vorta named Weyoun._

_Over the course of my five years of life I have known many Vorta. They do not differ very much from one another. They display cunning, pettiness, manipulation. Their dealings with us are tinged with disdain and contempt. Some, like Overseer Keevan, even tend toward outright abuse._

_This Vorta is very different._

_He greeted my men kindly and in his voice I detected none of the usual hints of sarcasm. He has so far been patient as the crew has spent time becoming acquainted with the new ship over the past several days. He has not leveraged the White as punishment, which by this point into an assignment would usually have transpired at least twice._

_I am not used to such...soft leadership. None of us are. The men don’t quite know how to respond and nor do I. But to say this is an unwelcome change would be a lie. I look forward to seeing how the situation develops._

* * *

_First’s log, personal. Stardate 01.662.8._

_My men try their best. They really do. We are all still trying to adjust to this new order of things, Vorta and Jem’Hadar alike; it will take time for the road to become smooth of obstacles. Remnants of our previous life in Jem’Hadarian society, before the Uplifting, still linger in the fringes of our species’ subconscious. We had no need to forge alliances; matters were handled simply, with action rather than with words. And when words were required, they were not tempered with tact or subtlety. But now, before the elegant, intellectual Vorta, my people appear clumsy, uncertain. They interrupt at inconvenient times. They convey rudeness and disrespect where none was intended. They respond to every conflict with violence. It is no wonder the Vorta perceive us as nothing more than feral beasts._

_Weyoun does not seem to hold this opinion. It is difficult to tell exactly_ what _opinion he holds of us, but I do not think it is negative. There is a degree of...respect in our interactions. He does not pry for details when I assure him I will see to a matter, looking for holes to poke as the other Vorta have. He has allowed me to handle all disciplinary actions and to my knowledge has not been unsatisfied by the results. He welcomes my input in combat situations and, on one occasion, even thanked me for it._

_The men are appreciative as well. He is endlessly patient with their social fumblings. He has not threatened to withhold the White at any point and does not treat the ritual as a burden. I have made it clear to my crew that we are to reciprocate this respect by striving to improve ourselves and our conduct as much as possible. For their part, they have shown progress. I caught two of them yesterday practicing conversational skills. This morning I overheard my Fourth advising the Fifth on techniques he utilizes to quell his anger in inappropriate situations. I have every confidence my people can grow to become something more than the dogs at the Vorta’s heel; if only there existed more supervisors like Weyoun to encourage this development to foster._

* * *

_First’s log, personal. Stardate 01.670.1._

_I have been steeling myself for some time for another reassignment, but our orders have not changed since we boarded this vessel. This afternoon, while discussing tactics with Supervisor Weyoun, I made an offhand comment about the matter – another small luxury afforded by the supervisor’s lenient attitude – and he responded with nonchalance that he had personally requested he be allowed to keep his current crew, at least until the next rotation cycle. I wished to know his reasons for doing so, but out of fear of impoliteness I did not press the matter. Still, I remain curious. Perhaps it is related in some way to the recent change in his mannerisms; I have noticed his smiling growing more frequent as well as a tendency to hold eye contact with me for lengthier periods of time. Perhaps he is simply becoming comfortable with my company._

* * *

_First’s log, personal. Stardate 01.673.9._

_My men and I underwent an exercise in patience today. Weyoun found himself engaged in animated discussion with a foreign dignitary at the usual time of the White distribution. I do not know if he had mistimed his communication or simply did not plan for it to take quite so long, but it does not matter; we needed the White. No matter how anxious my men grew, however, I did not allow them to interrupt the proceedings. After several hours the Vorta finally stepped away and I immediately made him aware of our need, which he wasted no time addressing._

_However, there was an...incident._

_Some malfunction caused the lockbox containing our White to fail to open. After several unsuccessful tries, Weyoun admitted with apprehension that he could not produce the White, and my Fifth lost his patience._

_The Fifth has had a difficult time adjusting. More so than the others. I was unfortunate enough to serve beside him under Keevan’s command and I witnessed firsthand the injustices he’d suffered as the Vorta’s “favorite.” The experience has left him scarred and he refuses to accept that Weyoun’s kindness is genuine. He can see only snakes in the grass._

_This happenstance seemed, to him, evidence to justify his mistrust. He accused the Vorta of toying with us purposely just before he lunged. I caught him easily and no harm was done – moreover I do not believe he was aiming to actually attack the supervisor. But such a display of threat was still unacceptable. I punished him by denying him today’s supply of White, since it was the cause of his unruliness. He will have to learn to deal with his emotions when they are not easily controlled._

_Perhaps it was a soft punishment, but I do not feel the need to tarnish the admiration my men are beginning to develop for me with unnecessarily severe consequences. Time will tell if it is a successful tactic. I am only grateful to be able to serve on a ship that tolerates such experimental leadership methodology._

_Weyoun, for his part, was sufficiently grateful for my interjection. He did not say as much but it was clear in his eyes. Times such as those remind the Vorta of their nature as prey animals, alone on a ship of predators, and though it is rare for Jem’Hadar to utilize violence against their superiors, it is not unheard of. Sometimes I pity them for this._

_Weyoun was able to get the lockbox operational again and he delegated out the White. As I was leaving we had a strange interaction. He stopped me – first to ask if he could speak to me about a personal subject, a qualifier with which most would not be deigned to bother – and upon my approval, asked me to describe what it feels like to crave Ketracel White._

_At first I did not know how to answer. The feeling is intrinsic to a Jem’Hadar warrior, and no other race has ever had interest in the process. I have never had need to put it into words. But I found some that I believe did the concept justice. I described to him the anxiety that fills us when we are without it. The thirst that becomes, eventually, overwhelming. The inability to focus on anything else. These things he seemed to understand. But I do not know if he truly appreciated the extent to which I emphasized the sensation of a hit of White. How it rushes one’s veins – fills one with warmth, with clarity, with life. There is no feeling like it in the world. Not even killing._

_He seemed distracted as he considered my words. Then, inexplicably, he approached me and touched a hand upon my abdomen. I allowed it, but did not understand the gesture, and when I asked for clarification upon its significance he withdrew, apologized, and dismissed me._

_I do not understand Weyoun in the slightest. I wonder if perhaps he is abnormal in some way. But I am finding more every day that my curiosity outweighs my apprehension. I am eager to see how these events will continue to unfold._


	2. Entry 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ridok'tala details a peculiar encounter with his Vorta commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to howelleheir's wonderful Dominionese Resource website, Vortawazhau, without which this narration would not sound nearly as elegant. (Sorry, howelleheir, for anything I've conjugated incorrectly!)
> 
> azhura: ecstasy, (sometimes) orgasm  
> qirazhe: nectar, "fruit essence"  
> qitha: the area of the body encompassing the buttocks and groin; lit. "lower fruit" (plural: qithar)  
> qithat'yu: to perform oral sex (vulgar); from "qitha talyu" lit. "to eat the lower fruit" (noun form: qithat'ya)

_First’s log, personal. Stardate 01.674.0._

_I have just left the Vorta’s quarters. I do not know exactly how to describe what has just transpired._

_I cannot divulge this information to anyone on my crew. I am certain it would mean death – for both myself and Weyoun. But I must organize my thoughts somehow. They are scattered. Unfocused. I cannot quell the images that continue to resurface. It will not do to return to duty in such a distracted state; I intend to use this log to make sense of what has happened, so I may leave it behind me._

_My Sixth approached me approximately two hours ago and informed me he had just passed the Vorta outside his quarters, acting oddly. He did not say exactly what it was the Vorta was doing, so when I found Weyoun doubled-over in the corridor, I approached with caution._

_As he turned to face me his eyes overflowed with worry. He asked me if he was defective. I had no point of reference with which to answer this question, so I told him honestly that I did not know, and offered to escort him to his quarters so that he may rest. Upon this suggestion, however, he took_ **_me_ ** _by the wrist and led me to his quarters. And when we arrived, he pulled me inside._

_There he asked another question of me: he wished to know why I treat him with kindness. I do not particularly think of it as kindness, but I cannot know the nature of Weyoun’s relationships with other Jem’Hadar before I came to be on this ship, so I must assume our mutual respect and admiration is as out of the ordinary in his case as it is in mine._

_I told him I treated him as any Jem’Hadar soldier should treat a Vorta: with unquestioning loyalty and respect. I shared my hope that through positive relations, my people could one day dispel their reputation among his for mindless savagery. And I informed him that I was using my actions to communicate my appreciation for his accommodating leadership._

_...Jem’Hadar and Vorta have different ideas about personal space. We often find the Vorta backing uncomfortably away from us, not realizing we have crossed a boundary by standing too close. But this time it was Weyoun who closely approached me. His proximity was...distracting. From such a short distance I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. I could detect his cloyingly sweet scent. I found it difficult to focus on his words._

_He affirmed there was indeed more to me than mindless savagery. He informed me he valued my appreciation, and also found me to be a useful member of the crew. But his voice was not its usual neutral tone. It had lowered noticeably in pitch and volume. I did not know what to make of it – and my confusion only grew as he reached out to touch me._

_His fingertips were warm on the sides of my face. It was not an unpleasant feeling. He traced my scales there, and then felt my neck and chest. Then his hand descended lower, to my waist. The other took me by the back of the neck to guide me into a position where he could rest his face against mine. And he began to...feel my qitha through my clothing._

_…_

_...I was...filled with many conflicting feelings. The Vorta are known to utilize carnal practices to establish relations with foreign powers, but they are not intended to have a drive or desire of their own. In my time serving under Keevan, I witnessed evidence to the contrary. He committed acts of violence against my men which are too shameful in nature to describe. But Weyoun was not hurting me. He had not commanded me to submit. His touch was gentle. And despite my uncertainty, I was beginning to find it...pleasurable._

_This was even more alarming. Before we were elevated by the Founders, our species was beholden to the practice of sexual reproduction. Our genetic modifications eliminated that need, but left our vestigial organs mostly intact. Until that moment, I did not know they would still be...functional._

_My qitha began to change. It grew larger and more firm in Weyoun’s hand. I found myself fidgeting; my breathing began to quicken; I did not know what to do with my hands._

_At the same time, I was acutely aware of his jugular just inches from my teeth. I could hear the rush of blood beneath that delicate skin with every beat of his heart and it called to me. Images flashed in my mind of tearing into his throat; I had to fight to suppress them._

_These feelings were overwhelming and I allowed my uncertainty to get the best of me. I asked for reassurance. But I chose my words poorly and Weyoun misunderstood them as a request to stop. He began to pull away – to apologize – but I did not allow him. Without thinking I had lunged forward and grasped him by the wrists._

_It was not a protest, I told him. I did not want him to stop._

_As the words left me I realized them to be true. I lamented the absence of his touch the moment it departed. His actions had stirred a flame deep within my belly, a smoldering not unlike the welling of anticipation before battle, and it demanded to be stoked. I did not care if our superiors would frown upon us for giving into this animalistic act. I did not care what consequences might befall us. I wanted only for our intimacy to resume._

_In my haste I did not realize I’d frightened the Vorta. He stared up at me with wide eyes, and to our mutual fascination they began to leak small droplets of translucent fluid. I touched one to my fingertips in curiosity and wiped it from his face, and felt inexplicably drawn to do the same with my lips upon his other cheek. This action seemed to comfort Weyoun, and he returned to me, his touches more confident now with my consent._

_He massaged my qitha and pressed his own against my thigh, gyrating against me. I wished to return the favor – to grant him the same pleasure he was bestowing upon me – so I reciprocated with my hand. His qitha differed from mine; I felt no protrusion between his legs but my touch drew soft sounds from him, so I continued to stimulate the area. Each moan he released into my ear drew a wave of desire within me. I wished to hear more._

_Before long he pulled back to regard me, his expression as curious as it was excited. He seemed to come to a decision; he dropped to his knees and began to undress me from the waist down. I found it strange to have the face of another so close to my loins, but as he took my qitha in his hand and began to attend it with his lips and tongue, my discomfort quickly dissipated._

_My hands searched for something to grasp and found his hair. Any notion I held of maintaining my composure quickly abandoned me; the qithat’ya was causing my hearts to race, my hips to buck, and my thoughts to roil. The vibrations of Weyoun’s mouth around me as he moaned drew my attention, and I looked down to see his hand disappearing between his legs. A wave of what I soon realized was jealousy overcame me. I growled long and low –_ **_I_ ** _wished to be the one bringing him pleasure._ **_My_ ** _hand._ **_My_ ** _mouth._

_An idea suddenly occurred to me._

_With some effort I stopped Weyoun and directed him to stand. If we repositioned ourselves, I told him, we could pleasure one another simultaneously. He acquiesced. We dispensed with the rest of our clothing and I led us to his bed, where I pulled him atop me._

_I was struck by how little he weighed. Vorta are such slim, delicate things._

_I guided him to face away from me and then to bend over at the waist. I pulled his hips up toward my face. His mouth lowered to my groin. He began qithat’yu once more as I explored his anatomy – first with my hand, then my mouth._

_His qitha was comprised of several sets of fleshy purple lips, headed by a small, denser piece of flesh and leading to a deep slit at the opposite end. It was slick to the touch. I found that I earned the most enthusiastic moans when I focused on the small bundle of nerves; at one point Weyoun could no longer focus on pleasuring me, such was the effect it had on him. His sounds intensified as I dipped my tongue into his aperture, over and over. His hips rocked back into me and his qirazhe dripped down my chin._

There was a long pause in the recording. After several moments, the sound of a heavy sigh was audible, followed by slow, paced footsteps.

_I was consumed by fire. I feel it now even in remembering. Nothing existed outside the two of us. My world was Weyoun: his taste, his scent, his sounds._

_My qitha begged for attention. I surmised that, with some doing, it would likely fit into the cavity my tongue was exploring – giving us simultaneous pleasure. I ceased my ministrations and beckoned to Weyoun to reposition himself._

_Perhaps, in the heat of the moment and the ambiguity of our new roles, I had become too familiar – too demanding. Or perhaps he wished to reassert his authority after I had reduced him to such a helpless state. Either way, Weyoun took offense. I feared for a moment that my actions were about to bring our joining to a halt; he scolded me harshly for daring to issue him an order, Jem’Hadar to Vorta, and I felt a moment of deep, true shame for my breach of conduct, for shirking the hierarchy our Founders had laid out for us. Even if only for a moment. But Weyoun soon softened and turned to face me as I had asked, and despite my renewed uncertainty, we continued to explore one another._

_I guided his hips atop mine and lowered him carefully onto my qitha. I was sure to proceed with caution; my tongue had found these walls elastic and forgiving, but the size of my qitha stretched Weyoun taut, and he needed a moment to adjust. He had only taken a quarter of my length before, shaking and panting, he met my eye with some primitive ravenous hunger and demanded I fill him immediately._

_I did not want to hurt my Vorta. But I could ignore neither his command nor my own animalistic need. So I obliged._

_The effect was...overwhelming. For both of us. His qitha swallowed me whole, surrounding me with warmth, and wetness, and pressure. Weyoun doubled over, in euphoria or agony I could not say. I held him as we both acclimated to the feeling of joining, of filling and being filled. As the rush of blood in my ears quieted and my blindness to the outside world subsided, I became aware of several things: the involuntary growling that was emanating, previously unnoticed, from my throat; the warm drip of liquid over my fingertips, alerting me to the fact that I had broken Weyoun’s skin; and the small, whimpering noises he was making, not unlike those of a wounded animal. I looked up with concern – and found Weyoun staring in dismay at his hand, which was shimmering with smears of deep crimson-violet._

_Blood._

_The focus of the world around me shifted as my pupils constricted. My body reacted without my consent; my claws closed around his wrist and wrenched it to my mouth, where my tongue quickly escaped to lick and to wrap around the digits. The taste was intoxicating. Even as my qitha throbbed within Weyoun, all that mattered to me was consuming every precious drop of the liquid ambrosia from his fingers._

_Few things can break through to a Jem’Hadar in the throes of bloodlust. I would venture that none have ever attempted to do so via sexual gratification – but as the walls of Weyoun’s qitha convulsed around me, it proved a very effective tactic. With a hazy but quickly growing sense of cohesion, I released the digit from my mouth, followed after a moment by the wrist from my grasp. I noted the gashes I’d left in Weyoun’s thighs and pressed my palms over the wounds to quell the bleeding. Then, I met his eyes._

_There was fear there. But something else, too. More than desire._ **_Need._ ** _And amidst the conflicting emotions, confusion. He was my prey, trapped and suffering and wounded and scared – but wanton, eager, insatiable as he breathlessly awaited my next move. The combination clearly frightened him. But it served only to fuel the fire raging within me._

_I braced his lower half with my hands on his thighs, pulled my qitha halfway out, and then thrust it back up into him. The movement jolted us both; he pitched forward and caught himself with his hands upon my abdomen, and I tensed and groaned against my will. I held Weyoun’s hips in place as I lowered my own back to the mattress, retreating until only the tip of my qitha remained inside him, and then repeated the motion over and over in rapid, unrestrained succession._

_Previously, I had believed there could be no greater pleasure than taking a life in the name of the Founders. At that moment I knew I had been mistaken. With each pump into Weyoun’s divine warmth and wetness – each time those slick, tight walls sunk down to meet my thrusts and envelop my throbbing qitha – I knew new heights of ecstasy. I was powerless to stop the sounds emanating from the depths of my throat: low, rumbled growls and half-formed grunts of the name of my new master. In that bed, there existed no other gods; I worshipped only Weyoun and the tight, enveloping heat within him._

_He, too, was overcome by the flurry of sensation. He threw his head back; his spine arched. The air was filled with the sounds of our coupling and Weyoun’s needful whines and whimpers – which rose in volume and pitch as time progressed._

_I have always enjoyed certain sounds more than others. The muffled blast of a phaser pulse finding its mark; the choked surprise of a dying adversary, caught unawares; the click and soft hiss of a vial of White being slotted into place. All were usurped by the sounds of Weyoun’s ecstasy._

_We continued like this for some time. Despite my endurance for strenuous physical activity, the angle of my attack eventually began to cause some strain to the muscles of my thighs. I relaxed onto the bed and encouraged Weyoun to seize control by directing his hips to roll and gyrate against me. The motions stimulated the outer areas of his qitha against my pubic scales and he took to it eagerly. His nails dug into my abdomen where he was supporting himself – but though I am sure he was using the full extent of his piddling Vorta strength, I felt little more than a slight sensation of pressure. Welcoming the idea of pain, I took his hands in mine and added my own strength, until I could feel the sting of his nails clawing at the rifts between my scales. I dragged those hands up my obliques, hissed at the exhilaration of the sudden pain, of the way it melded with the sensations of our coitus and brought an undercurrent of clarity to the haze of our euphoria._

_Weyoun leaned forward, resting his abdomen against mine, and brought our faces to close proximity. I could not tear my eyes away from his lips – soft and plump from the qithat’ya, glistening with saliva, parted by the helpless gasps and moans that forced themselves out with every rock of his qitha down onto mine. Suddenly I was overcome with instinct, and before I could process the urge I had already acted upon it: my head lunged forward and I smashed my lips into Weyoun’s._

_I had heard the term “kiss” before. But I knew little about it: only that it was the name of some act which transpired during intimate relations. However, the moment our lips met...somehow I felt, with deep, absolute certainty, that_ **_this_ ** _– the breathless, heart-pounding melding of two into one where our mouths melted upon one another – was in fact a kiss, and I knew that I must be the first Jem’Hadar soldier to experience one._

_Weyoun was just as bewildered as I. He pulled back in surprise, but his expression showed no hint of disapproval – only confusion and wild curiosity. He reclaimed a hand from my grasp and lifted it to my face to draw one of his fingers across my lower lip. And then, lifting his eyes – dazed and glassy but brimming with voracious hunger – to my own, he kissed me in return._

_I allowed my hands to resume exploring Weyoun’s body, still rocking and grinding atop me, but my touch was distracted as I focused on more important matters. Our kiss grew deeper and more impassioned. I flicked my tongue at the edges of his lips; he nipped at it, and I nipped his lower lip lightly in return. I pressed forward, slipping the tip of my tongue into his mouth, and he parted his lips wider to accommodate me. Our tongues met and explored one another – twisted and entwined and danced in a ferocious waltz. The feeling was electric. I noted, with both concern and excitement, that some distant, primal pressure was beginning to build deep within my abdomen, spurred by the frenzied motions of our kiss._

_I believe Weyoun felt something alike, as well, because shortly after I noted its presence in myself he withdrew from me with some mixture of alarm and uncertainty. His breathing was ragged and shallow. A hiss escaped through my clenched teeth as he sat up and allowed my qitha to slip out from inside him. His hand replaced the sting of cold air and stroked my ridges with fervor, but the change in stimulation had halted the rise of whatever was building inside me and the rapid reduction from a blazing inferno to mere smoldering embers frustrated me endlessly._

_Instinct told me to take what I wanted. To pin the Vorta beneath me like a trapped animal and ravage him until he could not see straight. But with the cessation of that blindingly euphoric heat around my qitha came some mental clarity, and I sucked in a measured breath, calming my predatory drive._

_I would have my turn eventually. I could play that game for now._

_Reaching between us, I slipped a hand to Weyoun’s qitha, where the copious amounts of qirazhe made friction difficult but not impossible. Bracing my other hand upon his thigh, I sought the sweet-spot of nerves I’d located earlier and kneaded it with zeal._

_The effect it had on Weyoun was immediate. His head fell back; his thighs tightened around me; his free hand thrust itself onto my thigh for support. He rolled his hips forward into my ministrations and released soft coos that soon turned to such long, loud, boisterous moans I was certain the whole ship could hear us. And then, as his vocalizations were reaching a point of urgency, at the peak of his ecstasy...something happened to him._

_His body jolted. He gasped, arched, bucked into my hand. His eyes squeezed shut, then wrenched wide open, alight with helpless confusion and surprise. His qitha quivered under my touch and his hips writhed desperately into my fingers. He trembled, convulsed, moaned in short, breathless bursts. I felt a gush of qirazhe between us, adding to the rivers already present. And then, gradually, whatever had possessed him released him. His body began to untense as his hips gave a few last faint twitches._

_I had no idea what had just transpired. It was as though a star had gone supernova before my very eyes. I surveyed Weyoun – blushing aubergine across his face, neck and chest, panting raggedly, scrambling to regain his senses – and something within me snapped._

_I lurched up and snatched him by the shoulders, forcibly rolling us over. I was vaguely aware of the growls rumbling in my throat as I pinned him down with a hand on either side of his shoulders and studied him – no longer my master, but my prize, my_ **_prey._ ** _His wide-eyed look of fear only drove me further into my frenzy; unable to wait a single second longer, I angled my hips until my qitha found that dripping entrance and thrust myself inside once more._

_There was no hope of restraining the beast within now that it had escaped. I attacked Weyoun with wild abandon. The return of his wondrous qitha around mine overwhelmed me with sensation. I could not keep my thoughts straight. My head bowed; my claws ripped at the bedsheets; wanton noises escaped through my gritted teeth. The pressure of Weyoun’s legs wrapping around my waist surprised me back to reality and I glanced up to see his countenance transformed into one of bliss – his head lolled to the side and soft moans emanating once more from his parted lips. He angled his hips to accept me more deeply and I growled, swore, redoubled my efforts._

_Once again I felt that elusive pressure building up from within. A growing heat – a desire – a need. It was stalking me steadily now, closing the gap with worrying speed, and through its presence unsettled me I could not fight it. In all honesty, I did not want to._

_With every wild thrust I became more and more unraveled. Each exhale became a grunt, a groan, a growl of unrestrained need, and I leaned down to bury my face in Weyoun’s neck to muffle the sounds there. It was a precarious position which, if not for my current occupation with other matters, would have tempted me beyond temptation to tear into that pulsing jugular. As it was, all that occupied me, all that I knew in that moment – was Weyoun, was his tight, throbbing heat, was the divine ecstasy of his qitha swallowing me whole._

_And then, as though I were sprinting toward a sheer drop at the edge of a cliff, I felt myself fall._

_My movements faltered. A choked cry escaped as I felt a wave of overwhelming heat crash over me, radiating outwards from my qitha and engulfing my entire body. The room around me, the Vorta beneath me, all faded into nonexistence as I careened off the edge of this blinding, white-hot euphoria. My hips slowed, then thrust thrice into Weyoun with hard, steady, urgent pumps. My qitha pulsed thick liquid into Weyoun with every shock of pleasure as I stabbed into him. My body trembled; my claws tore the sheets._

_Azhura._

_Through the waves of my climax I felt a hand on the back of my neck and heard the tense moans of the Vorta writhing beneath me, exhaled directly into my ear. He pressed his face into my cheek and stifled his sounds there as he arched up and gasped, grasping my forearms, his body shaking as he reached a second azhura. His muscles clenched and spasmed around my qitha with the pulses of his climax and drew out my own, intensifying it to a range I hardly believed possible. The seconds stretched out into eternity as we lost ourselves to the bliss._

_The waves lessened substantially after their first torrential crashes upon me, fading away eventually into small currents of bliss which peaked lower and lower with each slowing beat of my hearts. As the sensation subsided it left me disoriented, and eventually I opened my eyes, gathered my thoughts, tried to regain my bearings._

_The first thing of which I became aware was Weyoun’s delicate body lying, ravaged, beneath me. I felt the walls of his qitha still convulsing softly with aftershocks. I felt the warmth of his ragged breaths upon my ear. Some unidentifiable feeling stirred deep within me – the latest of many – but this time, unlike the embers that had smoldered in my loins, it swirled gossamer in my chest like the flame of a candle flickering in the wind._

_The amount of distance between our bodies became, suddenly, unacceptable. Sighing a deep, satisfied sigh, I lowered my torso to rest flush against Weyoun’s and simultaneously wrapped my arms around his midsection, drawing him close. He melted into my hold and sighed his own contentment. His fingers wandered to the back of my neck, where they gently massaged into my scales while we lay recuperating._

_Though my face remained buried in his neck, for the first time I did not find myself battling my predatory instinct. All that occupied my mind in that moment were thoughts of how nice it was to be within that slender grasp – and how small and exceedingly fragile my Vorta felt within my arms._

_My Vorta. A familiar pair of words which has now taken on an entirely new meaning to me._

_Lying in bed together, I took a moment to ponder the strangeness of my situation. For a Jem’Hadar, physical contact means one thing and one thing only: combat. I had never been...held like this. I’d never had a face pressed tenderly against mine, or felt gentle fingertips massaging my muscles. I’d never held a warm body happily in my arms. I did not understand the power it held over me. I could not comprehend the glowing, aching warmth knotted in my chest. I know only that I wished that moment would never end._

_Eventually, however, it did. We grew sticky and cold; our qithar became hypersensitive and we both gasped as I retreated from inside him. Sitting back, I surveyed my work. Weyoun was exhausted. His body was covered in bruises and gashes I’d left in the wake of my claws. Blood smeared his skin and the torn sheets beneath him._

_Regret pierced me like the swift stab of a dagger sinking into my chest. I began to offer my apologies – Jem’Hadar are to protect their Vorta, not harm them – but Weyoun dismissed them with a wave of his hand, already sinking into slumber._

_I was unsatisfied by this resolution. My wrongs had not been properly addressed. But given the circumstances, I would have to apologize with my actions rather than with words._

_I retrieved a dermal regenerator from a cabinet in Weyoun’s refresher. He remained comatose as I ran the tool over his wounds, stitching shut each laceration and dissipating each bruise. He would awaken pristine._

_Something gave me pause as I was turning to leave. An intrusive thought – like the flashes of violence that permeate my mind during fits of rage – but one of tenderness, affection. I saw myself leaning down and pressing my lips to Weyoun’s forehead as he slept._

_I came very close to acting on the urge. But after a moment’s hesitation, I simply turned and left._

_The showers were mercifully empty. I cleaned myself of our combined fluids in silence, trying to make sense of the emotions burning within me still. But even as I finished redressing and prepared to return to duty, I found I could not clear my head. So I stole away to my office to record this log._

Another long, burdensome sigh.

_I am not sure what good it did. I still cannot will my thoughts away from the passions we shared and back to the minutiae of running the ship. I exist, in all but the physical sense of the word, in those quarters still._

_I cannot allow this to endanger my command. A distracted soldier is a worthless soldier, and a distracted commander is a danger to his team. I must find a way to cope with these events and retain my effectiveness as a unit leader._

_...I_ **_must_ ** _find a way, or I will have to discontinue any possibility of further intimacy. And that is a reality I do not wish to pursue._

There was a long pause before Ridok’tala spoke again.

_Computer, delete entire log._


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude.

Vannis stiffened as the recording ended. Her face burned hot – with both indignation at the utter blasphemy of this revolting occurrence and embarrassment at having to sit through the intimate details once more. She pressed a few buttons at the console as she gathered herself.

“Weyoun’s logs confirm the account,” she said. “I’ll order them both terminated at once.”

“No,” came the forceful rebuttal.

The Vorta paused mid-command, her fingers hovering over the terminal. She glanced up to the Founder beside her, but after a moment – unable to read anything in that perpetually neutral expression – she pried tentatively for clarification: “Founder?”

“I want that ship taken off any further missions of import. But do not have them terminated – yet.”

The Founder leaned back in their seat, calculating.

“Let them grow close. It will make the lesson all the more impactful for Weyoun’s next clone. And it will serve as an example for others who may have similar defects.”

Differentially, Vannis bowed her head.

“The Founder is wise in all things.”


	4. Entry 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they always do, things get complicated.

_First’s log, personal. Stardate 01.674.2._

_The Vorta fills me with conflicting emotions the likes of which I have never experienced. Many of them, I have no names for. But there are others with which I am intimately familiar – frustration. Betrayal. Rage._

_Today has been...eventful. I will start at the beginning._

_I resumed my post on the bridge after making my last personal log. As the night hours stretched on, my thoughts wandered again and again back to what had transpired in Weyoun’s quarters just hours ago. I managed to repress the images with some effort. When Weyoun arrived in the morning to brief us on our mission, they became harder to dispel, but I did not allow them to interfere with my focus for long. Weyoun, however, seemed preoccupied. He left in a hurry._

_I felt the overwhelming need to give chase – to be alone with him again. After a few minutes had passed I gave up wrestling with the urge and left my Second in command so I could pursue Weyoun. Strangely, I found him in an empty cargo bay. He sat upon the deck, hugging himself, his face buried in his knees. As he looked up to notice my presence, I saw his face stained again with moisture trailing from his eyes._

_The sight alarmed me. But I hadn’t the faintest clue what to do or say. Weyoun collected himself and assured me he was fine, though clearly he was not, and began to dismiss me. The coldness of his demeanor shook me. There were no others around; as such, there was no need for pretense. His return to protocol stung deeply._

_As he stood, however, he stumbled, and we reached for each other at the same moment. He caught himself on my arm and I braced him as he regained his balance. A long moment of silence lingered as we looked at one another. And then, to my great relief, he slipped his hand into mine and fell into my arms._

_We did not want to let go of one another. But eventually Weyoun pulled from the embrace; he assured me that, after the mission, he would hold me as long as I liked._

A derisive snort cut through the recording.

 _Things did not turn out quite that way. I was not aware that the mission would involve Weyoun establishing relations with the Karemma dignity so_ **_intimately_ ** _. In addition to that unpleasant reality, there was the incident with my Fifth, Armon’talok._

_...To say I did not enjoy watching Weyoun preen himself and cast leery eyes at the Karemma man – Sitha –_

The name dripped with immeasurable hatred and vitriol.

_– would be an understatement. But I was able to hold my place. My Fifth was not. I fear he was re-enacting some painful memory as Sitha placed his hands on Weyoun and began to usher him away. His anxiety compelled him to draw his pistol and all at once the room erupted into commotion. No shots were fired, but Weyoun struggled to smooth things over and our unit and the Karemma guards shared an uneasy tension once the situation had settled down._

_I ordered Armon’talok back to the ship for the remainder of the mission. As Weyoun disappeared through a doorway with the Karemma, I ordered my Second and Third to post guard while I returned as well. I did not wish to hear the sounds that would emanate from that room._

_However, I could not yet bring myself to face Armon’talok. My thoughts were swallowed by an all-consuming void of flame. I could not keep from imagining the acts which Weyoun was, at that very moment, performing for the Karemma man. I saw his lips and tongue wrapping around Sitha’s organ. I saw the dignitary’s spindly hands grasping Weyoun’s hips and driving him down onto his qitha. I heard his voice calling Sitha’s name in the divine pleasure of azhura. For hours I paced back and forth in the meeting-room where Weyoun was due to debrief me upon completion of the mission, my hatred simmering._

_When he finally joined me, he was wholly unprepared for my ire, as though nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. His genuine pleasure at seeing me melted into dismay as my temper flared and...unkind words fell from my mouth. He reached for my hand in an attempt to soothe me but I wrenched it away; for all I knew it was still covered in the fluids of the Karemma man. All I could picture, looking at Weyoun, was his face contorted in ecstasy as Sitha pleasured him the way I had the previous night. The downtrodden look with which Weyoun fixed me only incensed me further._

_He turned to leave. I noticed, as he walked away, a distinct limp – and discoloration on his uniform that carried the scent of dried blood. For a moment, my resolve wavered. I called to Weyoun. But as he turned to face me, hopeful, I was again overcome with images of his passionate coupling with Sitha. White-hot anger blinded me and whatever apology had been on my lips fled forever._

_The debriefing, I simply reminded him. His hopefulness vanished. We conducted the shortest debriefing of my career so far and he left without another word._

_My mood was not improved by his departure. I knew also that I now had to face my insubordinate Fifth._

_Running still off the energy of my anger, I made haste to the barracks. No sooner had I taken a step inside than my fist had made contact with Armon’talok’s face. I did not even realize my own actions at first; fury had taken hold. Armon’talok moved to defend himself, but I struck again and sent him careening into a shelving unit. Before I could strike a third blow, however, I seized a moment of clarity. My nails dug into my palms; my nostrils flared; but I successfully regained control of my senses._

_With great effort I focused my thoughts away from Weyoun and to the man at my feet, to whom I had scarcely been paying attention even as I beat him. Guilt wracked me. I regarded him with a deliberate measure of lenity._

_Armon’talok had his reasons for acting out. Reasons which, on several unlucky occasions, I had witnessed firsthand. Keevan had insisted upon it whenever others happened to be present during his visits to the barracks. I can still recall with perfect clarity the sadistic satisfaction in his eyes as he stared each of us down in turn from atop the Fifth._

_Remember this, he’d said. Remember your place._

_..._

_If it were any other man, I would likely have killed him for his disobedience. But this – this was Armon’talok. Pitiable Armon’talok. Scarred. Broken. Still trying._

_He submitted himself readily for discipline. He accepted that he deserved death. I was not inclined to agree. Instead, I demoted him to Ninth, retracted his privilege of joining any away missions, and restricted him to barracks for thirty-six hours. I instructed him to use the time to contemplate the reasons behind his outburst and locate a solution to deal with them. At my leniency, he was relieved – and grateful._

_Just as I had turned to leave, I caught a familiar scent. Fury retook me._

_The Vorta._

_Armon’talok confirmed my suspicions when I asked – and informed me Weyoun had paid a visit not long ago and dressed him down sharply. He had explained to my officer how useless he was and that he was created for one purpose and one purpose only, and would do well to remember it._

Every word trembled with barely controlled rage.

 _As I left the barracks, I recalled back to the moment in Weyoun’s quarters when I shared my hopes that my people could one day shirk their reputation as mere mindless savages. I heard in my mind, over and over, the soft words Weyoun had whispered to me as he stroked my face: ‘You certainly_ **_are_ ** _more.’ And I imagined him spitting in disgust to Armon’talok that he was not._

_I scarcely made it to the turbolift before opening a commlink to Weyoun. The contempt in my voice was clear; I did not bother to disguise it._

_It was not required for you to speak to Armon’talok, I told him. You may discipline me, but only_ **_I_ ** _discipline the men._ **_That_ ** _is the order of things._

_I terminated the link before I could receive a reply. Weyoun did not attempt to reestablish it._

_I stared at the inside of the turbolift doors with eyes aflame. Fury unfurled in my body like a great cobra, its tendrils constricting my innards, its venom alighting my veins. With a sudden, sharp roar, I slammed a fist in the wall beside me. The force left a dent that I will eventually need to have repaired._

_I retreated to my office immediately to make this log – again in an effort to shed the emotions that burden me. When I return to the bridge, I will need to be free of distraction._

There was a pause – then a heavily frustrated sigh.

_It is going to be a very long shift, indeed. Computer, delete log._


	5. Audio File Review

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vannis doesn't always enjoy every aspect of her job, but she carries out her duties to the best of her ability nonetheless.

“Computer, play back audio file.”

Vannis’s voice was cold and clear as her eyes raked over the various flagged recordings scrolling across her screen. 

“Field Supervisor’s quarters, stardate zero one point six seven four point three, from quarter past oh-seven hundred hours.”

The computer chirped in compliance. The recording began with the hiss of opening doors.

“You…”

Weyoun’s voice dripped with venom.

“You have the _ audacity  _ to come here after the way you addressed me last night?”

The Jem’Hadar’s gruff voice could barely be heard as he replied under his breath.

“I do not regret what I said. It was not your place to discipline my men.”

Swift footsteps undercut Weyoun’s continued vitriol.

“Armon’talok required a  _ reminder  _ of his duty to this ship, and to me. Maybe your men would serve their purposes better if you lead by example and demonstrated the true function of a Jem’Hadar.”

There was a long pause, and then the barely discernible sound of a sharp exhale through flared nostrils. Ridok’tala’s voice was low and livid as he replied.

“Armon’talok has suffered quite enough without your ignorant Vorta meddling.”

His voice raised in volume as he continued, gaining a dangerous edge.

“And what, exactly, is this ‘true Jem’Hadar function’ you speak of? If the night before last is any indication, perhaps it is to  _ comfort  _ you? To pleasure you with my  _ undisciplined  _ tongue? If you wanted me to serve my  _ function  _ as a Jem’Hadar soldier and nothing else, you would not have invited me into your bed!”

The last word was punctuated by a soft yelp and a heavy couple of footsteps; Vannis was sure the First had entreated upon Weyoun physically somehow. Then came the hydraulic hiss of the doors shutting, and she realized he must have shoved Weyoun back from the threshold and followed him inside.

When Weyoun spoke again, his words still rang with anger and indignity – but they were halting, increasingly uncertain, interrupted by shuddering breaths.

“If you regret your actions with me, then leave. But I would encourage you to remember your place. I am the Vorta; you are the Jem’Hadar. You will respect me, and if you cannot after what happened…”

Vannis could detect the tension that hung in the brief silence. Finally, his incensed tone giving way to quiet sorrow, Weyoun continued.

“...then I will request you a reassignment. It will not be written in your record. The Founders can find you a better Vorta.”

“Perhaps that would be for the best,” growled Ridok’tala heatedly, and the change in the echo of his voice told Vannis he’d turned away from Weyoun.

Another long silence.

“I will put in the request tomorrow,” Weyoun finally said, so quietly the sensors hardly picked it up. As he went on, his voice crumbled, trembling and so vulnerably honest Vannis shifted in discomfort at having to hear it. “...I have failed you as your Vorta. I have forced you to disobey the Founders. Please forgive me.” 

A broken whimper shuddered through the air. And then a whispered realization, abject with horror.

“I am defective.”

_ Took you this long to realize it,  _ she thought bitterly.

After the slightest hesitation, hurried footsteps echoed followed by a shuffling of fabric. Ridok’tala’s voice issued half-muffled, softer and utterly devoid of its previous fury.

“If you are defective, then I am as well,” he murmured through Weyoun’s ragged breaths and choked cries, which suddenly quieted as though buried into some soft material. “I did not mean what I said. I do not wish to leave your command. I am simply...confused, after what happened between us. I am finding it difficult to adjust.”

Several moments passed where Weyoun’s soft weeping was the only audible sound. Slowly, it began to taper off, and Ridok’tala reasserted in what was assuredly the most comforting tone he could muster in that guttural Jem’Hadar voice of his: “I do not wish to be reassigned. I wish to stay here with you.”

There was a quiet sniffle as Weyoun collected himself.

“I want you here, as well,” he admitted. Then, taking a steadying breath, he continued, “But – first we must discuss behavior. I care very deeply for you...but, when I have a job to complete, I am expected to complete it successfully.”

A few light footsteps, contemplative as the words Weyoun spoke, which shifted in echo as he paced the room.

“Victory is life for Jem’Hadar, but Vorta live to serve. What happened with Sitha–” He winced through the name. “–was not something I chose to do. I did not enjoy it; it was vastly different from when you and I had intercourse. But it was my job. The Founders are wise in all things, and where they lead, I must follow.” A pause, then a quieter, anxious addition: “Though, I pray they do not order me to perform such a task again.”

“They likely will,” Ridok’tala noted, his voice thick with bitter resignation. “But I understand. I...do not like it, but I understand.” Then, more quietly, “...I am sorry for the position you are in. We must all make sacrifices for the Founders.”

“Indeed,” Weyoun agreed, and the sadness in his voice infuriated Vannis; how utterly ungrateful of this defect to treat the gifts of the Founders as a burden, to be blind to the privileged honor of being tasked with carrying out their will.

“At least I will have you to return to, even if I have to do…” Weyoun searched for a proper euphemism, came up empty-handed. “... _ that  _ again.”

“I will be here as long as it is possible for me to stay,” Ridok’tala assured him.

In the ensuing silence, Vannis imagined them sharing a smile or perhaps an embrace. The image made her want to gag.

“Weyoun,” Ridok’tala began again, just as she’d been convinced the recording was no longer worth listening to, “I wish also to speak to you about the matter of Armon’talok.”

“Yes, please, voice your concerns to me.”

She could tell the Jem’Hadar’s words were carefully chosen as he explained himself. “Firstly, I wish to express my regret at the manner in which I addressed you over the comm-link. I allowed my temper to interfere with my conduct. 

“...Secondly. Armon’talok failed you. He failed his unit and himself. For that, I have disciplined him. But I did not kill him, and he did not deserve your admonishment.”

Another pause.

“...He did not react out of incompetence or insolence. You must understand. He...carries things with him. His life has been difficult. It interferes with his abilities, despite his efforts to overcome it. I would like to see that he is given a chance to do so.”

Vannis was quite unused to the quality of Ridok’tala’s voice. Gruffness, stoicism, thinly concealed rage; these tones she knew well. Vulnerability? Earnestness? Coming from a Jem’Hadar, they sounded  _ wrong. _

Deflated of his rage, Weyoun conceded with genuine regret.

“You are right. I overstepped my boundaries with the Fifth, and for that I offer my apology. I should not have strayed from the hierarchy the Founders established for us in their vast wisdom; I should have entrusted the matter in your more than capable hands.”

A soft rustle of fabric and the creaking of a mattress told Vannis someone had lowered onto the bed.

“He is Ninth now,” Ridok’tala corrected, but his words took on a certain distractedness. After a moment there was the sound of a second body lowering onto the bed. Softly but firmly, the soldier continued: “Weyoun, you require treatment. I can assist if you do not wish to visit the infirmary…”

“I am fine,” came a snappy retort, defensive and dripping with shame.

Ridok’tala’s reply was matter-of-fact. “You are not.”

Vannis heard a quiet  _ clink  _ as someone picked an object up off a metallic surface, followed by the unmistakable quiet, high-pitched buzz of a dermal regenerator.

“I am the First. You are the Vorta. It is my duty to take care of you.”

“I am capable of taking care of these wounds,” Weyoun insisted, but his voice lacked any conviction, and Vannis heard the sweep of fabric as, presumably, Ridok’tala swept aside his robe to get at the abrasions beneath. “You are certainly not charged with doing so if you would prefer not to.”

Ridok’tala snorted a soft chuckle. “If I preferred not to do this, I would not be doing it at all.”

Weyoun was still uncomfortable, perhaps, Vannis thought, at the prospect of revealing the marks Sitha had left upon the body Ridok’tala falsely claimed. “You are my Jem’hadar,” he murmured. “I must care for  _ you.” _

“We will care for each other,” Ridok’tala declared, and it was the end of the matter – and the end of the recording for Vannis.

“Halt playback.”

There was still an hour or more of audio recognition present in this file, but the pattern of soundwaves (lower overall with sharp peaks, growing steadily louder and more rhythmic) suggested the contents were likely to be less of a  _ conversational  _ nature; she declined to scour them for useful information.

_ Irreconcilable differences,  _ she noted in her report.  _ Their possessiveness over one another creates tension and conflict in the face of the duties they are obligated to perform. _ Then, for posterity, she opened the log Ridok’tala had recorded that night.

Most of it was as expected; he detailed their fight, their subsequent making up, the intimacy that followed and the tumultuous emotions he experienced throughout it all. But one snippet caught her attention, and she rewinded the recording to verify she’d heard correctly.

_ In the final moments of our passion, Weyoun suddenly snatched my hand and directed it to his ear. His head pressed into my palm while his fingers guided mine to rub and trace over the ridges, and in my distracted state I managed to do so, I suppose, adequately; his azhura was upon him quite suddenly. But this one was...different. His cries grew high-pitched against my lips, and each convulsion around me grew in intensity, beginning before my own peak and enduring far after it was over.  _

_ All the while, some strange, low humming noise was vibrating intensely from deep within his throat. I had never heard such a vocalization before, and when I inquired about it afterwards, Weyoun himself seemed perplexed at its appearance. He could not produce it again until I returned my fingertips to his ears. It is...a pleasant sound. I look forward to drawing it from him again during our next union. _

Vannis was equally as perplexed as Weyoun. She’d never heard of this vibration Ridok’tala described; Vorta didn’t make such undignified sounds, and they certainly didn’t  _ hum  _ or – she struggled to recall a word she’d once read in an auxillary report on lower alien life forms –  _ purr.  _ A moment passed wherein Vannis simply scoffed at the notion, considering the absurdity. Then, unwelcome but inescapable, curiosity trickled in like an itch at the fringes of her mind.

Surely it was simply another one of Weyoun’s defects, she thought. If it was normal and natural for Vorta to fondle one another’s ears it would be a widespread practice among them and they’d have a proper word for this noise and they’d both have already known about it. She’d just mark it down for the geneticists to look into.

But as Vannis reached for her Padd, she found her hand was currently occupied. Reaching slowly for her ear.

She snatched it away before she could find an answer she didn’t like.


End file.
